


wooden creations

by cowboylakay



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:01:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25910041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboylakay/pseuds/cowboylakay
Summary: Arthur catches Charles whittling.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith
Comments: 3
Kudos: 62





	wooden creations

Arthur’s barely blinking the sleep from his eyes when the sun rises over Ambarino, shivering in his cot as a gust of wind billows through the camp. No matter how many times he regrets stripping down to his union suit before bed on account of the freezing air, he can’t seem to break from the routine, always hanging his shirt and jeans and tucking his boots under his cot. He rubs his arms with his hands, shrugging his coat and his jeans on. He looks a little funny, only somewhat dressed, but it was better than risking running into Grimshaw and being told off for walking around in the near buff.

He drifts towards the main campfire after making a stop by the coffee pot, undoubtedly only put out by Jenny minutes prior, tin mug cradled in his hands to warm them. The chill of the wind runs down his back and causes his skin to prickle into gooseflesh, all the while he sips his scalding hot coffee.

“Shit,” He curses quietly, running his burnt tongue over the roof of his mouth. Still, the warmth was more welcome than the cold.

“Morning, Arthur.” He hears Charles say, seemingly materialising from nowhere to in front of him. Arthur avoids jumping back in surprise, realising that Charles had probably been there the whole time, awake at the crack of dawn to tend to the weak fire while already fully dressed and ready for the day. He’d always known, from the moment he met him ‘till now, that Charles was a very remarkable man, but it seems that he proves it even further with every passing day.

“Hi, Charles,” Arthur grunts back, blowing over the surface of his coffee. He glances up to look at Charles, sitting on the dirt with a piece of wood in his hand and a small knife in the other. He’s seen Charles whittle before, along with a few others in camp, but some part of his sleep-addled mind is transfixed on the action. “What you got workin’ on over there?”

Charles looks up at him with a hint of surprise and a lot of amusement. Not even ten minutes into his day, with his cheeks slightly heating up, Arthur’s managed to embarrass himself already. Charles seems alright with it, however. “I’m not entirely sure yet. Maybe a bear, or a doe.” He hums thoughtfully, turning the wood in his hand and inspecting it. “Maybe more kindling for the fire.”

Arthur barks a surprised laugh at that, not entirely expecting the joke. Charles looks at him strangely then, something warm and welcoming in his expression, to which Arthur has to look away, otherwise he might show too much on his own face and scare Charles off for good. The thought was absurd, rationally, because if there was anyone in camp that would be respectfully understanding, it’d be Charles, but the thought of driving away one of their best men still sits horribly in his stomach like rotten butter.

“Well, I never really been the type to know that sorta thing,” He says, pushing those thoughts aside as he sips his cooling coffee. The campfire is only barely warming his shins, so he gets off from the log he’d been seated on and moves closer to the fire.

Charles snorts goodnaturedly, eyes back on the movement of his knife gliding through the wood, making a pulling motion that causes wood shavings to land on his shirt. There seems to be a lot of caution around whittling, but Charles cuts the wood like it was second nature to him. “Do _I_ seem like the type?”

“Sure,” Arthur says, willing away the nervous energy that bubbles somewhere deep in his chest. “Seems like it takes a lot of patience. I ain’t good with that, myself.”

“I’m sure you can be,” Charles replies, dusting some wood off of his shirt and onto the ground. He looks back up at Arthur for a moment, before he’s holding out the wood and the knife in his hands. “Wanna give it a shot?”

Some tragically youthful, giddy part of Arthur almost jumps at the opportunity, only reined in by the better part of Arthur that knows he shouldn’t be thinking such foolish things about Charles. Still, he smiles at the offer and puts his mug aside, taking the tools from Charles’ hands and sitting next to him. “So, uh, how do I do this, exactly? Like this?” He acts out what Charles was doing, pulling the knife back towards himself and onto his thumb.

“No, I think you’ll be better off starting the other way.” Charles repositions his grip, warm hands working to angle Arthur’s hands properly. He tries not to get too distracted and focuses on the instructions. “Place your thumb against the spine, and push outwards. Try not to press too hard against the wood or you might break it. Make sure your cuts follow the grain, or you’ll blunt the knife or ruin the wood.”

Arthur does what he says, starting from the slightly rounded base past the slimmer body, shavings landing directly into the fire. His cuts turn out pretty clean, though not as smooth as the other sides of the wood, but Arthur still feels the slightest bit accomplished. Charles smiles from next to him. “See? Not so hard, is it?”

“I got a good teacher,” Arthur says, feeling a little loose as he smiles back. “Next I’ll be carving whole statues.”

“I hope I catch up with you by then,” Charles replies, and his smile is near infectious. Arthur feels a little like one of those shrinking violets in some of Mary-Beth’s stories, fawning over the chivalrous acts and seductive smiles of the men that saved them. It’s hardly accurate, and neither of them fit the characters of those stories, but Arthur’s lived long enough to know what attraction feels like.

He doesn’t realise how close they are when he can feel Charles’ breath on his lips. Then the world comes slamming back into him like a freight train, and he pulls away suddenly, knife pointed away and wood clutched in his now-clammy hand. “I-I should... should get goin’,” Arthur says then, stumbling over his words as he scrambles up. Charles watches him with a carefully neutral expression that some rumbling part of Arthur wants to wipe clean off his face. “Thank you, for teaching me.”

“No problem,” Charles tells him, rubbing his hands together. Arthur passes the tools back to him hastily and turns as soon as they’re taken from him, heading to a part of camp that allows the least access to looking at Charles.

Despite this, he takes out his journal and begins writing, _that Charles Smith is making a right fool out of me, and worse yet is that it is none of his fault._

**Author's Note:**

> i’m [lakay](https://cowboylakay.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


End file.
